


Upon a Table

by twobirdsonesong



Series: Prufrock Verse [4]
Category: CrissColfer - Fandom, Glee RPF
Genre: Drabble, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Prufrock verse, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 21:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twobirdsonesong/pseuds/twobirdsonesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment in time during the filming of "Don’t Speak."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upon a Table

The sheets that were so cold at the beginning of the day are already too warm, sweaty and rumpled and sticking to his skin.  The sets are almost always too oppressive – too many lights and too many people in too tight a space.  The body heat builds and gathers and rises until sometimes it’s chokingly thick and Chris has to step outside just to be able to breathe.  There’s the one PA who wears too much perfume and the camera operator who doesn’t wear enough deodorant.  There’s the bitter, electrical stench of hundreds of feet of thrumming cables and batteries and bright lights and Chris just wants to throw the sheets back and lay down on the cool floor.

The bed for the Kurt/Rachel set isn’t very comfortable at all, not like the bed in Blaine’s bedroom was.  Chris has fond memories of that bed and those sheets and the sound of a soft pillow smacking into Darren’s head.  But this one - it’s too hard for Chris’ taste and so are the pillows.  He can’t sink into the mattress and get cozy; instead, he feels like he’s lying on an operating table, waiting for something awful to happen.  And in a way, something awful is going to happen; it already has.  Take after take, something heartbreaking and terrible happens to him, to  _them_ , over and over again until the hurt is perfect.  It’s not fair that they have to stay in this bed between takes, in this place that holds nothing good at all.  There’s no reprieve, no rest.

The back of his neck is starting to hurt and Chris arches a little, rolling his shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension.

“You’re thinking so hard it’s giving me a headache,” Darren says suddenly.  “Stop it.”

“Sorry, I’m just-” Chris takes a deep breath that doesn’t carry enough oxygen with it.  He shifts restlessly against the bed and his long-sleeved shirt clings to his sweaty back and the pants stick to his thighs.  “It’s too hot,” he says and he hates that he’s complaining about something as silly as extra heat.  He wants to ask for one of those portable little fans, but he hasn’t seen the PA who carries them around for at least fifteen minutes.  He’s already shoved the hems of his pants up to his knees, but the body-warm sheets are still stifling against his skin.  He’d take off his shirt if he could; he’s pretty sure that at least Darren wouldn’t mind.

“Here, this’ll help.”

Chris yelps embarrassingly loudly at the sudden, breath-stealing shock of Darren’s ice-cold toes against his calf.  “Fuck, Darren!”  He exclaims and doesn’t care how many people on set suddenly look over at them.

“Yes,” Darren drawls, and he rubs his foot against Chris’ shin.  “That’s what I like to hear.”

Chris rolls his eyes and flings a hand out to smack his knuckles into Darren’s chest.  He doesn’t resist when Darren grabs his hand and holds it to his chest, even if Darren’s hands are as warm as his toes are cold.  Chris hand feels sweaty to him, but Darren just twines their fingers together as though he doesn’t care at all.  He probably doesn’t.  What’s a little sweat between them at this point?

“How are your feet so damn cold?” Chris shivers but doesn’t pull his leg away.  It actually feels too good, even if it’s a little strange; Darren’s feet aren’t usually like this.

“I don’t even know, man.”  Darren digs his thumbs into Chris’ palm and Chris shivers for an entirely different reason.  “I’m sweating like a dick in a jockstrap over here.”

Chris wrinkles his nose and tries not to picture Darren in a jockstrap; now is not the time for inappropriately tented sheets.

“You know this is your fault,” Chris mutters.  He can feel a trickle of sweat just behind his ear and it’s disgusting.  He rolls his head on the pillow and glares at Darren, who’s staring intently at Chris’ hand, at the knuckles he’s currently massaging with his unfairly talented fingers.

“What’s my fault?”

“You’re too warm.  This is all you.”  Chris stretches his other leg out in search of cooler territory.  His foot pokes out from the sheets and is disappointed when the air offers little in the way of relief.  “You’re heating up these sheets.”

“Gee, Colfer,” Darren grins over at him.  “You really know how to boost my poor little ego today.”  He squeezes Chris’ hand a little tighter and digs his toes into the muscle of Chris’ calf.  Chris’ own toes curl a little and he swallows thickly.

It’s true though.  Darren’s radiating body heat like a furnace just like he always does.  But it’s different – it’s not the heavy, overpowering heat of too many bodies and a dozen lights on the set.  It’s a gentle, calming kind of warmth that makes Chris’ eyes close and his muscles loosen and relax.  When the nights go long and Chris is cold to the core for reasons he doesn’t like to think about, he can curl into the solid strength of Darren’s chest and pull in every degree of heat that Darren’s body willingly offers him.  It’s enough for him to actually let go and find some sleep. 

“Hey.”

Chris opens his eyes, eyes he doesn’t remember closing, at the gentle insistence in Darren’s soft, low voice.  Darren’s turned onto his side, tucked up a little, and Chris shifts to mirror him.  Their knees bump together under the sheets and Chris’ lips twitch in a little smile.  Both of them have such bony knees. 

“This is almost over, ok?”  Darren slides Chris’ hand up until his palm is pressed over his own heart.  Darren’s eyes are dark and glittering in the dim lighting of the set and his thumb strokes rhythmically across Chris’ knuckles.  “This day is almost done and then we’ll go home.”

“You mean you’ll go home and I’ll go home.”  Chris is shocked by the words as they slip from his lips and he bites his tongue to keep from saying more.  He doesn’t usually say those kinds of things, doesn’t let himself even  _think_  them.  But this week – this goddamn week – has been one of the most mentally and emotionally exhausting weeks of his whole time on the show.  If he’s not careful, if he doesn’t keep himself in check, he’s going to say something that maybe he shouldn’t.

Darren’s eyes are intent and serious on his face, searching for  _something_ , and Chris wants to pull the sheets up over his head and hide.  It’s been  _years_  and he’s still getting used to the way Darren looks at him.  Chris had grown so used to people looking past him, or avoiding him altogether, that the way Darren looks  _for_  him, the way he  _sees_  him, still stops Chris short.

“Chris,” Darren begins to say, but Chris flexes his hand against Darren’s chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt and then deeper, and Darren swallows down the rest.

“Don’t, ok?” Chris shakes his head and fists Darren’s pajama top tightly.  The fabric is body-warm and smooth and it’s not what Chris wants to feel. “If you say anything right now…I won’t – I  _can’t_.”

Darren just nods, but his eyes are soft, understanding, and his grip on Chris’ hand – pressed tight to his chest, over his heart – doesn’t let go until it’s time to roll camera again.


End file.
